


The Difference Between Honesty and Treason (it depends on who's listening)

by wordyanansi



Series: Bellarke Fic Week - July 2015 [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Ark AU, Bellarke Fic Week, F/M, First Meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:22:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4378880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordyanansi/pseuds/wordyanansi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke has been released from the Sky Box, her treasonous secret no longer matters because the problem has been fixed.</p><p>But she can't trust anyone she used to know, and she's not sure she wants to anymore.</p><p>Thank god for janitors who clean viewing decks on night shift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Difference Between Honesty and Treason (it depends on who's listening)

**Author's Note:**

> It's my first Bellarke Fic Week post! 
> 
> I'm in Australia, so it starts today for me.
> 
> This is my very first Ark AU... because honestly I don't feel like they would have met or known each other on the Ark. And they certainly wouldn't have had that team work dynamic. Anyway. 
> 
> Huge thanks to [TheJGatsby](http://thejgatsby.tumblr.com) for helping me work out the kinks.

Clarke loved the viewing decks. She loved staring out into the dark of space, the brightness of the sun, or the green and blue of the Earth. The viewing decks were some of the quietest and least frequented places on the Ark. After an argument with her mother, an exhausting shift in medical, or just when she needed time to be alone... Living on the Ark for the past hundred years had rendered the concept of "personal space" null and void, and Clarke knew it was privileged of her to have it. But after a year in solitary, it probably wasn't her fault anymore.

 

She sighed, staring out in the darkness, scattered with pinpricks of light in the distance. Two years ago, she had watched her father float. Two years ago she had been sent to solitary, waiting a year until she got floated to protect the secret. But by the time a year had passed, the secret had gotten out (some persistent mechanic by the name of Raven Reyes, and Engineers Sinclair and Wick uncovered it, and disseminated the information). She was told that the Ark was no longer in danger, and the secret was no longer a secret, and she was being released now that she was no longer a danger to the Ark. But a year of "freedom", and she still felt like part of her was still in solitary.

 

She sighed, closing her eyes, and tried not to cry. There was no one here to see, of course, except for the security cameras. But she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her tears. So she took slow breaths, placed her forehead against the cool glass and silently told her father that she missed him, over and over again. And lost in her world, she did not hear the door open behind her.

 

"Oh, sorry," an unapologetic voice called behind her, startling her out of her reverie. Clarke turned to look at him, and offered him a small smile. He was tall, despite the way he carried himself to look smaller, with skin that reminded her of the sun, of the pictures from earth skills. A janitor, she noted, almost as an afterthought.

"I'm probably the one who should be apologising," Clarke said wryly. "I'm going to guess that the deck is scheduled for cleaning." The janitor grinned at her, amused.

"Good guess," he replied, edge of sarcasm in his tone. "But I can come back later if you want?" Clarke shook her head.

"No, wouldn't want you to get behind schedule or anything. Um, do you mind cleaning around me though? I'm just... not ready to go home yet," Clarke offered.

 

She remembered the look on her mother's face earlier that day. 'Don't you remember what day it is?' she'd asked, how her mother had replied that her father was a traitor, and to mourn Jake Griffin was to say that you agreed with his treason. To tar herself as treasonous again wouldn't end well, her mother reminded her. Clarke felt tears welling again, and turned her head away from the janitor, looking back out to space.

"I can do that," the janitor said quietly. Clarke can hear him getting ready to clean the floor behind her. For a few minutes, he works in silence, a steady presence behind that is somehow comforting despite her initial desire to be alone.

 

"Not the good kind of anniversary?" the janitor asked conversationally. "Or just having a lovers’ spat." Clarke snorted at the latter suggestion and she offered him the smile he had earned. Honestly, it was nice to smile again. He was grinning back at her, smug.

"You have to have a lover to have a spat," Clarke teased. And then she glanced away, frowning for a moment, before she met his gaze again. "Anniversary," she admitted. "My father..." The janitor nodded, understanding.

"My mother," he responded. "Almost two years ago now." Clarke nodded, understanding.

"Two years today," she told him softly. His eyes snapped to meet hers, understanding who she was suddenly.

"Jake Griffin," he said, his voice cold and hard suddenly, where it had been warm, almost comforting before. Clarke swallowed. It is not that she has not met her fair share of people who hated her because she was privileged, or because of her father's treason, or whatever else. But she wasn't expecting this one. Regardless, she leveled her gaze at him in challenge.

"He was my father," Clarke replied firmly. The janitor nodded, once, in understanding.

"I admired what he was trying to do when it came out," the janitor admitted, and Clarke pressed her lips together in a line.

"I'm just glad that everything worked out," she replied, the party line she was told to repeat whenever anyone asked. The janitor quirked an eyebrow.

"No you're not," he said. "But I know why you're saying it. I think you're glad we're all still breathing, but there is a part of you who would have felt vindicated if we'd all died, too." He's not wrong, she thought to herself, and he was the first person who'd dared to say anything like that to her. But, still... She cut her eyes to the security camera automatically, and the janitor followed her gaze. On the Ark, someone was always watching.

"They aren't watching us, they won't be listening," he added. Implied in his voice was the suggestion that she could trust him. Clarke turned back to look at him.

"And I should just trust the nameless janitor? Someone is always watching. I learned that the hard way," Clarke snapped. She didn't believe that he was a spy, another test from the council, but it was better to be safe than sorry after all. There are plenty of people who would like to see her floated, at the end of the day. The janitor gave her a steady, honest look, and she felt it in her chest, like a blade had pierced her.

"My mother was Aurora Blake," he replied, his voice quiet, but it was not as steady as he would probably have liked, the emotion ran strong underneath it. The name was enough of a reason to trust him, and Clarke worked to keep her surprise in check. Blake. They kept the girl under the floor for sixteen years... and Clarke suddenly felt sick as she connected the dots.

"Your sister," she breathed. "Octavia." He nodded, his hands clenched and released a couple of times, and a muscle in his jaw worked. It was almost time for her review.

"I'm not allowed to see her," he admitted, looking at the floor he was cleaning. "It's worse than my mother, in some ways. I keep telling myself that at least it is better than the crawlspace she lived in. More rations too. But..."

"She's still locked up. And you miss her," Clarke finished for him. "I get it." The janitor (Clarke scanned her memory for his name... Aurora, Octavia, and... Bellamy) tilted his head to the side to consider her.

"You might," he offered. "But you're still a princess." Clarke glared at him.

"Well, you're free for the first time in your life - no secrets under the floor, no sneaking rations back to your room, no praying a random check doesn't kill your entire family. And yet you are more miserable than you've ever been before. For someone who seems to understand what it's like to be in a cage when you're walking free, you're still an asshole," Clarke snapped back at him, taking a step forward. He twists his features into an approving half-smile.

"Maybe you aren't so bad, after all, brave princess," Bellamy told her. Clarke's scowl morphed into a smile, even as she tried to fight it.

"You're not so bad yourself, Bellamy," Clarke told him. Bellamy raised his eyebrows.

"People don't remember my name, usually. Their names, yes. But not me," he said, looking at her like he could make sense of her if he looked in the right place.

"Everybody remembers my name," Clarke replied dryly. "It's not all it is made out to be." Bellamy laughed.

"Yeah, I think you're probably right," he said, but his smile had some affection in it. The moment dragged out, neither knowing quite what to say next.

 

The moment was ruined by a couple of teenagers entering the viewing deck.

"Sorry," the boy said, and tugged the girl back out into the hallway. Clarke turned to stare back out into space, feeling suddenly awkward about the false sense of intimacy they'd created between each other.

"I should get back to work," Bellamy muttered, and Clarke looked up to find him staring at his mop on the ground.

"Yeah," Clarke said softly. "I'm... I have to attend a dinner tomorrow night. With the Chancellor and the Council. I want... Can I ask about Octavia?" She wished she wasn't embarrassed to ask the question, but it feels like the right thing to do, to ask permission. Honestly, if she'd caught murmurs about her review coming up, she'd have fought for the girl anyway, with whatever limited power she had. The inner circle didn't exactly view her without suspicion anymore. Her own mother turned in her husband, and Clarke knew that she couldn't hide behind her mother's political clout anymore, even if she wanted to.

"You'd do that? For me?" Bellamy asked in disbelief. Clarke shook her head.

"No, I'd do it for Octavia," Clarke returned. "Her only crime was being born. Mine was treason. If one of us was going to get floated, it should have been me." She could feel Bellamy's gaze on her.

"Yeah. Thank you. I can't... I don't have anything to offer you," Bellamy managed, his voice tight, frustrated, and full of emotion. Clarke found the courage to turn back to face him. She was struck with the way the powerlessness of his situation didn't suit him; didn't sit well across his handsome features. She offered him a small smile.

"For Octavia. You owe me nothing," Clarke replied. "But... I think I would like to talk to you again." Bellamy looked up at her sharply, meeting her eyes.

"Slumming it?" he questioned. Clarke narrowed her eyes at him, annoyed at the accusation after their conversation.

"No. I don't have a lot of people I can trust. Or people who understand. It's... I feel like I'm always two steps from being floated. Everyone around me seems to care more about themselves than the people; the greater good. I feel like I'm suffocating all the time. I don't... I don't belong with them anymore," Clarke replied, staring off with challenge in her voice, finishing more quietly as she trailed off. It's more than she had intended to say, and more than she'd said out loud in a long time. Keeping secrets was a way of life for her now, and she imagined, the way of life for most people on the Ark. A place where any crime can get you floated and no one had enough to eat didn't exactly breed honesty, she'd learned.

"And you feel less like that with me," Bellamy finished for her when the silence had dragged on too long. Clarke swallowed and nodded. The silence began to drag between them again, before Bellamy spoke.

"I'll be here next week. Same time," he said. Clarke smiled at him, and at the olive branch he offered.

"Until we meet again, Bellamy," Clarke replied gently, hope stirring in her heart for the first time in a long time. Hope that, perhaps, she didn't have to be so alone. Hope that maybe it could get better.

"Until we meet again, Clarke Griffin," Bellamy replied, humour lacing his tone.

 

As she walked back to the home she shared with her mother, Clarke let herself think that she liked the way her name sounded coming out of his mouth. She let herself think that her father would have liked him, and the smile that accompanied that thought made her feel warm to her core. It was the first time she'd thought about what her father would think about something, what it would be like to still have him, that hadn't left her cold and wanting. If she never saw him again, she'd always be thankful to Bellamy Blake for giving her that. But... 'I'll be here next week. Same time.' Clarke let herself smile. He was kind of an asshole, but he might end up being the best friend she'd ever have.

 

 


End file.
